


Things That Go Lemmie In The Night

by NorroenDyrd



Series: It's O/K! [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, Fade to Black, Fluff and Humor, Forbidden Love, Ghost Hunters, Haunted House, Humorous Ending, Markarth, Mystery, Romance, Secret Relationship, Skyrim courier, Wannabe Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Argis the Bulwark feels a certain... presence in his Thane's home in Markath. He has convinced himself, and his motley audience at the Silver Blood Inn, that it is a ghost - but is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Go Lemmie In The Night

'Ar - ' Cosnach was interrupted by a loud, prolonged belch and had to start over again. 'Argis! My favourite drinking buddy! Let's get some mead!'

Acknowledging the Reachman's greeting with a curt nod, the Nord lowered himself heavily next to him and gestured to Kleppr to bring him a tankard.

'Still no shipments, eh?' he asked, casting an intent sideways glance at Cosnach's red face, which, the nose and cheekbones especially, seemed to gleam in the firelight.

The merchant tracts leading up to Markarth were notorious for frequent Forsworn attacks - and there was very little hope that the situation would ever improve, as the new Thane blatantly refused to help in wiping out every single camp of those barbarians. She believed (foolishly, Argis thought to himself, but he was her housecarl so it was not really his place to argue) that the savage tribes of the Druadach mountains could be reasoned with - and taking advantage of her kindness, the half-naked demon worshippers kept swooping down upon travelling caravans and looting the goods intended for Imedhnain, Cosnach's cousin, and employer, now that Lisbet had vanished into nowhere... And with no crates and sacks to haul on his back, the porter had nothing else to do but loiter about the Silver-Blood Inn, gulping down mug after mug after mug and making clumsy groping movements every time the innkeeper's daughter sauntered by, swaying those impossibly curvy hips of hers.

'Yeah, still no shipments,' Cosnach replied, stretching languidly. 'So I just sit and drink, sit and drink...' he scratched his stomach, narrowing his eyes to two content, drowsy slits. 'What about you, friend? Still house-keeping?'

Argis flinched.

When he was a lad and went out hunting with his father, a cave bear had clawed out his eye - and recently, he had almost lost his remaining eye, too, as he and his Thane had come across a bunch of particularly unfriendly fire mages while adventuring. Ever since then, his Thane had grown overwhelmingly protective of him.

No matter how hard, how vehemently he tried to convince her that he could handle himself, she would refuse to take him on any of her long, chaotic, and inevitably exciting expeditions. The little Redguard would come rushing into Vlindrel Hall, in a tiny, bronze-shaded whirlwind, wave her hand at him, blind him with an ear-to-ear, pearly grin - and then, come rushing out, off on a new adventure. And he, her housecarl, tasked with aiding her in battle, with shielding her from danger, was reduced to the lowly task of house-sitting - and keeping his only eye vigilantly on the ragged riff-raff that the Thane generously allowed to use her bedrooms and pantry whenever they pleased. Hardly a duty that fit a true son of Skyrim, still in his prime and perfectly able to use his sword arm... But a duty it still was, assigned to him by his Thane, and he had sworn to obey her every order - so he had to put up with being treated like a useless old cripple, with languishing away in empty rooms on some days, and calming down rowdy beggars on others... While she was frolicking about, somewhere out there, no doubt slaying dragons and saving helpless urchins from trolls.

'Yes,' he muttered gloomily, staring at the foam of the drink Kleppr had set down before him. 'Still house-keeping...'

It seemed that this day, the gods had gathered together and decided to dispel the dark storm clouds swirling round Argis' head. He had barely lifted the mug to his lips when the metal door clanked open, and in marched a short, bandy-legged, snub-nosed fellow in a white cap.

'Oi!' he called out, freezing on the inn's threshold. 'Is there anyone hereabouts by the name of...'

He produced a small slip of paper out of his pocket and peered down at it for a few seconds; then, realizing that he was holding it upside down, he flipped the paper over and read out slowly, syllable after syllable,

'Ar-gis the Bul-wark, a.k.a. Big-Cudd-ly Plu-shie Be-ar...'

The Nord housecarl lifted his muscular bulk, tiny pink circles blossoming beneath his eyes.

Big Cuddly Plushie Bear - that was what his Thane jokingly called him. Not... not that they ever cuddled, of course. She did give him an occasional hug as a greeting, because that was her way with people - all people, even those she barely knew. But as far as he was aware, the touches she gave or received never became more intimate, neither with him, nor with anyone else.

She made no mention of having anyone special in her life - and he was pretty sure that if she were seeing anyone, she would have talked his ear off about what a wonderful, wonderful time she was having; she was that kind of person. Argis wondered at times why no one had set his eye upon his little Thane - he himself preferred the good, sturdy, ruddy-cheeked Nord lasses, but even so, he considered her not too bad-looking, with her dark skin and blue eyes and billowing jet-black hair. And as she was always on the move, always dancing about doing something, the countless sweetrolls she stuffed carelessly into her mouth had practically no effect on her waistline, so she kept all the right stuff in the right places. Wait, was he allowed to think of his Thane like that?.. Look at him - he had not even had a whole pint yet, and his thoughts were already beginning to wander. That goddarn house-sitting was clearly making him go soft.

'That's me,' he said, trying not to look too sheepish. 'What is it?'

'I have a message for you,' the white cap declared with an air of utmost importance, flapping the paper slip in the air.

Argis clambered out from behind the counter and snatched the missive out of the courier's hands, glancing at it with his sighted eye narrowed in curiosity.

It ran as follows,

_Dear Argis,_

_This is to let you know that I will be coming to Markarth in the next couple of days (yay!). I have been adventuring in the Reach and thought I'd pop by and see how the folks in my favourite Dwarven city are doing (double yay!). We are gonna have lots of fun, all of us - because I plan to stay for at least two weeks! (triple yay!)_

_Of course, I would have loved to surprise you - but I still remember how you flipped and flailed the last time I burst in without warning, confetti and all. So yeah, here goes. An official message._

_By the way, I met a Khajiit caravaneer who had a whole chestful of spices from my homeland! Eee, I was so excited! I bought quite a bunch of them - not all, though; because what if someone else wants some spices, and the Khajiit is all out? I will be so totally using these goodies in my cooking! I am sure you'll love it._

_Hope to see you soon,_

_Kiara_

'Thank you, my good man,' Argis said after he finished reading.

The courier shifted his weight from one foot to another, with a very meaningful look on his face. Sighing in resignation, Argis tossed him a coin as a tip for his time - even though he was pretty sure that his Thane had already showered him with a golden rain of septims. She earned the stuff in heaps, selling the spoils from dungeon-diving and getting rid of threats to the holds of Skyrim - but could spend all her wealth in a flash, on lavish feasts where everyone was invited, and on gifts to the most random strangers.

'Why, thank you so much,' the courier replied, grinning.

Hearing the familiar, invigorating clink of gold, Kleppr stirred like a bloodhound sensing the prey's trail.

'Why don't you spend your tip here, my friend?' he drawled, giving the courier a slow, sly grin.

'Er, I don't think so,' the fellow shook his head. 'I still have letters in my satchel, and I don't drink on the job. Last time I did it, I ended up running around Skyrim and delivering mail stark naked!'

With those words, he slinked away, leaving Kleppr slumping behind his counter, with a sour, disappointed look on his face, and Argis brooding silently over his Thane's letter.

'Heeeey,' Cosnach slurred, as he strolled up to the housecarl and leaned against his strong, bulging shoulder, stifling him with a sharp, acid smell of sweat and liquor. 'Why so glum? Did someone die?'

'No... My Thane is coming to stay a fortnight...' Argis mumbled, folding up the missive and sliding it beneath his armour's belt.

'I thought it was a good thing,' Cosnach said, confused. 'No more sitting around in an empty house for you - and those de-hic!-licious meals of hers round the clock... I still don't get why you should put on your Life-Is-Pain face'.

Argis lingered with a reply. It was stupid, childish - and given Cosnach's state, he would likely drop on the floor laughing if he learned what was on his mind... If he learned that Argis the Bulwark, the valiant, steadfast Nord found worthy of serving the new Thane - that he was spooked by strange lights and noises in the night. And spooked he was - shaking in his steel boots like a miserable milk-drinker.

He had tried to find excuses for his fear, of course - telling himself that he was a warrior, not one of those fancy mages; that he had been trained to protect his charge from creatures of flesh and blood, not from shapeless, invisible spirits. For he was convinced that a spirit had taken residence in Vlindrel Hall - and that, for some reason or other, it always awoke whenever his Thane decided to stay for longer than a couple of days.

Almost every night when she was around, Argis would hear muffled echoes of doors opening and shutting, and the soft plop-plop-plop of unseen bare feet racing across the stone floor, and faint, half-stifled whispers and groans; he would see flashes of pale-blue, magical light dancing on the walls, and unfamiliar shadows creeping from one corner to another - but every time he would rush over to his Thane's room to check on her, tripping over his own feet, his hands clammy and cold, his weapon readied, he would find her nestled in bed, with absolutely no signs of a dark force hovering over her, ready to grab her with ghostly, clawed hands. She would yawn and rub her eyes and, seeing his wild, panic-stricken face, tell him that he had had a bad dream and should really, really go back to sleep... But he was not convinced. There was something going on at night in Vlindrel Hall, and it did not feel right. Which was why Thane Kiara's lengthy stays in Markarth always made Argis uneasy; what if that otherworldly presence grew too strong, and he would be unable to protect her like he was sworn to?..

While the admirable housecarl was brewing in his own doubts and fears, Cosnach kept pressing him for answers. Why has he so concerned? What was he hiding? Didn't he trust him? Didn't he respect him?

At long last, the Nord felt that he was no longer able to bear the Reachman's hot, rank breath in his ear - and caved.

'I - I think Vlindrel Hall is haunted,' he said under his breath. 'The ghost only appears when my Thane is around, so I am afraid it might hurt her'.

To his greatest relief, Cosnach did not start guffawing his lungs out, or singing a teasing song along the lines of, 'Nana-nanana, Argis is scared of ghosts!'. Instead, he just swayed a little and lifted his finger to his lips, a conspiratory glint lighting up in his eyes.

'Haunted, eh?' he echoed. 'I say, next time the blighter pops up, you kick the ectoplasm out of him - it... whatever!.. I can help - been a long time since I had a brawl with anyone'.

Argis knitted his eyebrows. This - this was actually the most sensible thing the old drunk had said in years. If he tracked down the spirit - if he took battle to it - his Thane would see what he was capable of; she would realize that he was no cripple... And, gods willing, she would take him adventuring again.

'Cosnach, you are a genius,' he said ecstatically, bending down and squeezing the Reachman's cheeks in a fit of childish glee.

'Oh please,' a silken, softly sarcastic voice piped in from the background.

Argis whipped round, letting go of Cosnach - and saw a tall, golden-skinned elf leaning against the counter, his long fingers clasped round a silver goblet (Argis did not even know Kleppr had those; the old boot-licker must have reserved them only for special guests), his orange cat-like eyes taking in everything around him with a look of lazy contempt from beneath lowered eyelids.

Argis had seen the fellow around town a few times; he would either patrol the streets or race after that stuck-up robed fella in the keep. The elf was one of the Thalmor soldiers sent to 'keep order' in Markarth after the damn pointy-ears had started cracking down on Talos worshippers - but now he had to be off-duty, because he was not wearing his usual gilded armour. Instead, he was clad in a loose, broad-sleeved burgundy shirt with a low-cut collar that exposed his collar-bones and a measly tuft of hair on his chest (really? Was that all those elves were able to grow?).

'Are you talking to us?' Argis growled through his teeth.

Like most Nords, he harboured little love for elvenkind; his Thane had been trying to tell him about their history and their ways, and had given him examples of how she had made friends with pointy-ears (both yellow- and grey-skins, and those mad little savages from Valenwood, too), and what wonderful 'buddies' they were - but so far, she had not been too successful in turning him into an elf-lover.

'I am indeed, my good barbarians,' the Thalmor sneered mockingly. 'I happened to overhear your little conversation - and I assure you, if you plan on banishing a restless spirit, mere brute force will not suffice'.

'What is it to you?' Argis asked gruffly. 'We don't poke our noses into your business, do we?'

'Our business is classified,' the elf replied with a venomous smile. 'Poking your noses in it would have resulted in your losing them - and much, much more. I am merely trying to help you oafs - I know magic, and magic comes in handy when dealing with the restless dead. And you may put your paranoid little minds at rest - I do not have any ulterior motives. Let's just say that this craggy wretch of a city, as my Commander so eloquently calls it, is most frightfully boring... And a mer has to amuse himself somehow, has he not?'

Argis still looked doubtful - but Cosnach waddled up to the elf and put his arms around him in a genial embrace (the poor wretch almost vomited when the wet bush of hair in the Reachman's armpit brushed against his precious shirt).

'Welcome to the ghost-busting team!' he cheered, ending his cry in a loud burp that brought tears to the hapless elf's eyes.

'So?' he asked chokingly, addressing Argis, after he shook Cosnach off.

'Oh, fine,' the Nord muttered. 'I suppose we do need magic to stop the haunting... But if you do some of that treacherous elven stuff to us - ' he gave the elf a long, fierce glare. 'I won't care that you are the Big Bad Justicar's toady - I will punch your elven hide full of holes, mark my words!'

'It's Justiciar, not Justicar,' the Thalmor said, in an icily calm, even tone. 'And I solemnly promise that there will be no "treacherous elven stuff" involved. Now, if you excuse me', he set down his goblet and gave the two humans a mock bow. 'I must retire to the Keep to brush up my knowledge of lore connected with the undead. I shall contact you when that,' he curled his lips slightly, 'Thane of yours arrives. Be well - don't accidentally break your necks or anything'.

 

When exiting the inn, he had to struggle to keep a straight face. Beneath his shirt, his chest swelled with a happy, elated feeling - something almost improper, almost human-like. He was going on a ghost hunt! True, his companions-to-be were the most uncouth, thick-skulled lesser beings imaginable - but he would do anything to break the stifling circle of his daily routine... And besides - if they pulled it off, if they really did vanquish a ghost - that would draw the attention of Commander Ondolemar, who had always looked down upon him because he was the youngest and least experienced of his soldiers... And maybe, just maybe, the Commander would reward him for his heroism by letting him come with him on one of those top-secret Talos-worshipper-hunting missions he would sometimes go on! Ondolemar had never taken anyone as a companion on his quests, not even his personal bodyguards - telling them they were a bunch of incompetent dunderheads and would only ruin everything. Well, perhaps now he would change his mind?..

***

 

Once upon a time, there was a little elven boy that lived in a large, spacious house on the sea shore. A house that had tall stained-glass windows, looking out at the tiers upon tiers of natural terraces, which were made out of steep white cliffs and lush green meadows - and tinting them every possible shade of pink and gold. A house where every room was filled with ornate vases of finest porcelain; and with beautifully detailed, life-like statues, chiseled out of marble or moulded out of gold and bronze; and with full suits of trophy armour - glittering glass, and blazing dwarven metal, and jet-black ebony; and with luxurious tapestries, where the skilled clawed hands of Khajiiti masters had meticulously recreated vast battle scenes and breath-taking views of Tamriel; and with stacks upon stacks of priceless volumes of arcane lore... A house which, for all its grandeur and riches, still remained cold and unwelcoming - empty, devoid of soul, of happiness.

Once upon a time, there was an elven boy who had a bright, warm light burning in his heart, its fire bursting through in the eager gleam of his wide-open, jade-green eyes. A light that fueled his dreams and coloured everything around him into happy, vibrant colours, just as the stained windows coloured the seaside cliffs. But there was no place for that light in the stuffy, lifeless chambers of the great house; there was no place for that light in the world of the grown mer that would walk through the house's corridors, all of them tall and clad in dark, gilded robes, like their gracious host - the boy's father... in the world that the boy himself was being groomed for, the superiorly bred little mer that he was.

And as the boy grew older, the light inside him grew dimmer and dimmer, shrinking at the cold breath of the world he was destined to enter. And with it, the very colours around him seemed to fade; reality became grey and barren. Perfectly organized. With targets that needed to be met; goals that needed to be accomplished; threats to the Dominion that needed to be eliminated. The boy, small, frightened, and terribly lonely, was consumed by the waters of oblivion; his image became a mere fleeting, dream-like memory; he had grown into a superior mer, a perfect servant of the Dominion, with his heart coated in a thick, protective layer of ice and freed from the bothersome light that could have distracted him from his duties.

But then, one day, something happened. The mer suddenly realized that the light had not gone out, after all - as it turned out, he had been carrying it within him all this time, deep, deep down; and all that it took to rekindle it, to breathe the life back into the cold, grey wasteland that was his world, was the touch of a small, soft, dimpled hand; the sound of a chirpy, carefree voice, laughing and singing; and the sapphire glow of two eyes that had this impossibly mesmerizing way of looking into his.

And with each passing day, the light burned brighter and brighter, so it became nigh on impossible for him to keep up appearances; to make his kind, and all others around him, believe that he was still the same; that the ice crust was still in place, and the world was still colourless and perfectly organized.

And now, too, the light danced its joyous dance in his chest, as he looked down from the Keep upon the sun-flooded streets of Markarth. She was out there, as he knew she would be; she had set up a portable cooking pit where that hideous cannibalistic butcher's stand had once been - and the fresh morning breeze carried with it the sharp, spicy smell of Hammerfell food. It was one of her little quirks, cooking free meals for the townsfolk - she enjoyed it immensely, adding sprinkles of ingredients to some sizzling, bubbling dish; and then watching the happy, gravy-smeared faces of those who came to heed the irresistible siren call of a filling, succulent dinner. He still had a hard time understanding her motives behind wanting to stuff the bellies of all those lesser creatures; but he had learned to accepted, just as he accepted so many other things about her. Like her perpetually cheerful mood, or her tendency to break into song every few minutes.

She was singing now, too; he could barely see her tiny figure, dancing about, juggling pots and pans, with her hair tied into a ponytail, for once, to keep it from getting into the food - but he could hear her voice. That silvery, enchanting voice - how could he have once thought it shrill and annoying?

She sang without pausing for breath (he could almost picture her, eyes half-closed, teeth gleaming in a smile - and, well, her chest rising and falling as her voice changed pitch),

_Now I realize_   
_There's so much more to learn;_   
_I'm ready for the world,_   
_Not scared of letting go…_

_Now I realize_   
_There's so much more to feel;_   
_And my heart knows it's real;_   
_The part of me so long forgotten is calling,_   
_And this feels like home,_   
_Home, home,_   
_Feels just like home…_

This was the song she had sung when she first came into Markarth - when he saw her, whirling in a dance in the market square, and felt a curious little pang as the thawing ice round his heart began to crack. It had to be a sign - a message to him, because she had to know he would be watching. Her way of telling him that tonight... Oh, gods, he could not wait for tonight - for the time when he would finally be able to toss aside the mask he had to wear in public; to set loose the torrent of light locked within his heart. To be the self he had always longed to be, no matter how ashamed it made him.

'Commander Ondolemar? Sir?'

His reverie was broken by the sound of shuffling footsteps behind his back - and a voice, faltering, sheepish, belonging to one of his soldiers. The boy, haughty and disdainful towards humans and most lower-ranking servants of the Dominion, immediately acquired an obsequious stammer when he addressed his superior officer.

'C-can I take the daytime patrol today, sir? I - I have an errand to run later tonight'.

'Suit yourself,' he replied coldly, turning away from the square. 'All I care about is that you carry out your assigned duties as befits a mer in your station. Dismissed'.

'Th-thank you, sir!' the soldier blurted out, withdrawing clumsily into the corridor. The Commander's icy, seemingly indifferent gaze, slid along the spines of the books the younger Altmer was clutching protectively close to his chest. Curious Cases of Hauntings, The Ghosts of Skyrim, History of Vlindrel Hall... Whatever was that boy up to? Why, he - he believed he knew...

 

***

 

The Thane had arrived. According to Argis' theory, the spirit would soon wake up. It was time to start the operation.

A few hours after sundown, when the Thane, exhausted after a long day of feeding the crowd and tending to the sick in the Warrens, had gone to sleep, Argis met with Cosnach and the Thalmor next to the waterfall behind the Understone Keep. He had not told her where he was going, not wanting to needlessly alarm her - and, well, he wanted to add an element of surprise to his heroic accomplishment, as that way he would clearly impress her more.

They met quite a sight, drawing together from the semi-darkness. The housecarl was armed to the teeth, carrying two freshly sharpened axes with a special coating that he had asked the local Redguard silversmiths to add (he was prepared to evade any prying questions, but it looked like the couple was used to customers making outlandish orders). The elf, who this time had not taken off his armour when going off-duty, had packed a satchelful of potions and was nervously playing with an orb of blue light in his fist, lighting it up and extinguishing it again. And the Reachman had covered his forehead with bizarre, twisting protective glyphs - and was even sober for once. Exchanging silent nods, the three of them lined up in single file, with Argis in the lead, followed by the Thalmor and Cosnach - and set on their way up the short flight of stone steps that led from the Keep to the ledge where the Hall was perched.

The housecarl had left the door unlocked behind him; coming up to the entrance, he pushed at the cold, hard metal; and as soon as a narrow gap opened up, leading into the quiet, slumbering house, he stepped aside, silently beckoning the Thalmor to be the first to enter. The elf had tagged along with them, so he had better start making himself useful right now.

The soldier gulped. Much as he loathed admitting it - he was more than a little bit afraid. He was still too young to have grasped the entire scope of the arcane, and the only ghosts he had ever seen before were the harmless, tame wolf-like familiars. It had seemed such a grand plan back at the inn, and while he was doing his research on ghosts in the Keep - but now, as he was standing in front of the supposedly haunted house, staring into its dark depths through the gap in the door... he was not so certain. But - but the humans were watching him; he could not possibly act like a coward in front of them! What kind of display of elven supremacy would that be? Taking a deep breath, the Thalmor screwed up his eyes and dove into the murk of Vlindrel Hall.

Everything around was eerily still - so still that the three ghost-busters' breath seemed to turn into loud, raspy growls, which made their own hearts contract painfully. The silence brewed around them, dense, stifling; it sucked them in like a bog and pressed at their skulls till they began to crack. And then, in that silence, something creaked.

It was a faint, squeaky little creak - like the kind an old mattress makes when you get up from the bed. But the wannabe adventurers were too wound up by the suspense of entering a haunted house - so this innocent creak sent a painful spasm shooting through their hearts. Cosnach even opened his mouth to scream - but Argis hurried to clap his hand against his lips.

'Hey elf,' he said in a hissing, dramatic whisper. 'Do some magic, will you?'

The Thalmor gave a small start and tried to assume an indignant pose.

'How dare...' he began - but choked on 'you' and 'address me like that' and whatever else he was going to say - for at that moment, the entrance corridor began to fill with thin, bluish, piercingly cold fog. It slithered its way a few inches above the floor and coiled its way up the ghost-busters' legs, rooting them to one spot and making their toes go numb.

And after the fog, came the ghost. The real, actual ghost of Vlindrel Hall. It was a man (as far as they could tell) in a long, hooded cape - with a trail of faded red spots running along its front. Blood splatters - from whatever violent end he had met.

And he was - he was half-transparent, just like the stories described ghosts; his whole body seemed to be woven out of wispy swirls of blue light. He drew closer and closer to them - contrary to what most books said, he was walking instead of gliding, but they couldn't care less about such details... And when the distance between them grew so small that they could have touched him with an outstretched hand (but, of course, they would have grasped at thin air), the ghost stopped and threw his arms up into the air; the broad folds of his sleeves would have fallen back from the movement, but he kept the cloth wrapped tightly round his fists; they could only imagine what manner of claws he had concealed underneath...

Freezing like that, under the unblinking stares of the three petrified ghost-busters, the ghost waited a few seconds, as though wanting to achieve a more effective impact, and spoke, in a lowered, snarling voice that rang with a throbbing, otherworldly echo,

'I AM THE SPIRIT OF VLINDREL HALL! I GUARD THE SLUMBER OF ITS NEW OWNER, AND WARD OFF THOSE WHO DISTURB IT! LEAVE NOW, OR BE FOREVER CURSED!'

The three heroes did not have to be asked twice. The valiant and honourable Nord housecarl, the arrogant Thalmor soldier, the semi-clueless Reachman porter - none of them had been able to contain the blank, uncontrollable terror that sank its claws into their hearts when they stared into the face of death itself. Conveniently enough, the ice spell that had hindered their movements wore off at that exact moment - and as soon it did, the ghost-busters darted out into the streets of Markarth, bumping into each other, their eyes bulging and their hair standing on end like quills upon a fretful whatever-beastie-that-posh-Wayrest-play-mentions.

And as soon as they were gone, and the metal door clanked shut behind them, another magical effect also came to an end. The ghostly blue aura enveloping the hooded figure dissolved with a small pop, leaving behind someone very tangible and very much alive. Commander Ondolemar, naked save for a large, wine-splashed sheet that was wrapped around him like an ancient Imperial toga and pulled over his head to conceal his face. As he returned to his flesh-and-blood form, he slid down the wall to the floor - laughing. Wildly, almost hysterically, till his throat grew parched, his chest began to hurt, and tears came into his eyes. By Auri-El, he had never laughed like that before - not once in his life. Not even after all the lessons Kiara had given him. The laughter left him blissfully drained; hiccupping slightly - but impossibly, wondrously happy.

 

***

 

'So that was why you needed that old potion I showed you,' Kiara murmured, pressing herself closer to Ondolemar and straddling his knee so she could reach his ear with her tongue.

They had nestled right where she had found him when she peeked curiously out of the bedroom - he had let her eel underneath his sheet, and they were now sitting on the floor together, the tender warmth of their naked bodies chasing away the chilling touch of the stone.

'You know it has quite a story connected to it?' she asked, smiling complacently to herself as her long, wet lick made Ondolemar shudder with pleasure. Those fishy little booklets the priestesses of Dibella had lent her really had a bunch of useful stuff in them - even if half of it made her blush so hard that she almost ran out of air to breathe with.

'You see, there was this barrow near Ivarstead...'

Ondolemar huffed in mock irritation and silenced her with a soft, lingering lip bite.

'The only story we will be discussing tonight is mine,' he whispered, tearing away from Kiara's mouth and caressing her body underneath the sheet. 'Did you see how magnificent I was? Did you see how I made them cower and run for their lives? I - '

His lips parted in a wandering, dreamy smile; Kiara rubbed his bare forearms with her hands and looked up into his face, her eyes glowing with silent laughter. This expression was so unlike the contemptuous scowl he wore in public, like some sort of protective armour - it changed his face almost beyond recognition, making it look younger. Yes again, like she always did whenever the mask fell off the great and terrible Justiciar Commander's face, she felt profoundly happy and honoured - for she was the only one that was allowed to see this smile.

'I do believe this was the first prank I ever played on anyone...' Ondolemar went on, unconsciously stroking Kiara's unruly hair. 'It feels - refreshing...'

'Aww, Lemmie, I am so happy for you!' she giggled, wrapping her arm round his neck and running her fingers along the back of his shaved head. Then, suddenly, as some thought crossed her mind, she paused, and frowned slightly.

'I hope they are all right... You gave them quite a scare...'

'Oh, they are grown men!' Ondolemar replied nonchalantly, leaning down to kiss her neck. 'They'll get over it! The only thing we have to worry about is how I will be able to look that soldier boy in the eye tomorrow and not burst out laughing... What a scandal that would be!'

'But what if they find their courage and come back?' Kiara persisted - pausing for a giggle every time the prickly hairs of Ondolemar's goatee tickled her skin. 'I mean - Argis has to come back; this is his home!'

'It does not suit you when you worry so much. Let the Nord come back - we will think of something,' Ondolemar brushed her off - not literally, though; how could he brush off those little hands that circled across his chest?

The tiny vertical line between Kiara's eyes smoothened.

'I love you so much when you are being careless,' she smiled, as she let Ondolemar trace the outline of her face with his lips.

He looked up, one corner of his mouth sliding up.

'That's not how you are supposed to say it!' he said teasingly. 'Do you want me to punish you for heresy?'

'I know, I know,' she chuckled. 'I love you, period. But punish away, oh supper-bread mer of mine!'

And rubbing her head against his chest, she let his sweep her up, sheet and all, and carry her off to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Kiara sings is from Disney's Brother Bear 2 movie, which has one of my favourite soundtracks.


End file.
